The cool water lapped about his ankles, his knees, his hips. He threw himself forward and began to swim, straight out toward the depths. The water became rougher and colder. His limbs grew numb. Exhausted, he swam sluggishly, still outward. A wave struck him and he breathed in water. Choking, he instinctively struggled for life even while craving death.
As consciousness began to slip away and the cold enfolded him, he heard his name spoken.
“Marcus.”
It came softly from all around him, and then stillness fell as a rising warmth took hold of him.
32
Marcus awakened on the shore. Disoriented, he stared up at the stars. A dream, he thought, it must have been a dream. But why then did his lungs hurt? He pushed the weight of a dry cloak off of him and sat up. The sea breeze caressed him, and he felt the cool dampness of his tunic against his skin. His heart began to beat faster. Goosebumps rose all over his body.
A fire crackled.
Shaking with fear, Marcus turned his head. A man in a long tunic sat on the other side of the flames, cooking a fish. In the flickering light, Marcus thought his garments shone. Never had Marcus seen such a face.
“Are you God?”
“I am a servant of the Lord Most High.”
Marcus felt a chill of apprehension. “By what name are you called?”
“Do not be afraid,” the man said, and his voice was at once commanding and soothing. “I am Paracletos.”
“Where did you come from?”
Paracletos smiled, and his countenance seemed even brighter. “I have come to bring you good news, Marcus Lucianus Valerian. God has heard your prayers.”
Marcus began to shake violently. He had asked God to take his life and thought to drown himself when nothing came of it. Was this stranger here now to strike him down in the name of the Lord? Well, it was no less than he deserved. He waited, heart thundering in his ears, sweat breaking out on his skin.
“Rise and eat,” Paracletos said, holding the stick with the roasted fish toward him.
Marcus rose slowly and leaned over the fire, sliding the fish carefully from the stick. He sat again and removed the flesh from the bone. It was delicious and melted in his mouth. After the first bite, he realized how hungry he was. Paracletos gave him bread and wine, and Marcus ate and drank until he was replete. It would seem God wanted him to die with a full stomach.
The intensity of Paracletos’ gaze burned Marcus’ heart. “Many have prayed for you, and their prayers have been heard,” he said, “but you must ask in order to receive.”
Anguish filled Marcus. “By what right do I ask anything?” He knew what he wanted most, but it was impossible. “Can I receive forgiveness from one whose death I caused?”
“In Christ all things are possible.”
Marcus shook his head and closed his eyes. He thought of Hadassah. In his mind, he saw her walking out onto the sand, her arms open wide, smiling, singing. Who but God could give her such peace in such circumstances? Who but God could give her the faith she needed? Faith. Where did it come from?
“Ask and you shall receive.”
Marcus looked up at him. Deserving nothing, he clenched his teeth. Should he cry out to God to save him now when he had cursed him time after time? Should he plead for mercy when he had given none?
“God gave his only begotten Son that whoever believes in him should not perish, but would have everlasting life.”
“The fiery pit is where I belong, not in the heavens,” Marcus said hoarsely. “Hadassah lost her life because of me.”
“And has found it. God holds it still in the palm of his hand. She will not be taken from him. I tell you this in truth, Marcus Valerian, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will ever be able to separate Hadassah from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Relief and gratitude washed over Marcus.
The man rose and approached him. “Believe in him who sent me. Hear the Good News. He who died has risen again, just as he raised you up from the sea. You asked the Lord to take your life, and so he has.”
He put his hand on Marcus’ shoulder, and at his touch, Marcus’ heart broke. Tears came like the lancing of an ancient, infected wound that had pained him from birth throughout his life. He fell prostrate on the sand and wept.
“Go to Capernaum,” Paracletos said. “You will find a man at the gate. Tell him all that has happened to you tonight.”
Marcus stood after a long while but saw no one on the beach with him. Could he have dreamed it? He looked and saw, there before him on the sand, a charcoal fire and the bones of a fish.